


we are professionals, after all

by fortunatefolly



Category: Holby City
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Uniform Kink?, it's basically a pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatefolly/pseuds/fortunatefolly
Summary: Serena sees the big macho army medic in her uniform for the first time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the middle of writing their first time having sex, but then this happened instead. Womp womp.

“I can’t, not right now!” Serena yells across the ward at a junior doctor, who is waving some form in her direction. Her hands are manually holding together a man’s chest cavity. How does he expect her to walk over and sign a bunch of forms? The patient had been pulled out from underneath a car, his beating heart and a lung practically exposed to the open air.

It was supposed to be a quiet Wednesday afternoon at Holby, that was until some drunken fool had stepped out in front of a bus, and the driver had swerved into oncoming traffic. Now there are at least 16 bodies being wheeled into the trauma bay, and today of all days is when Bernie bloody Wolfe finds herself out of commission.

“My old commanding officer’s asked a favor, wants me to come in for a day, help them with some protocol training,” Bernie had said a few days ago. “Will you be alright running the ward by yourself for a day?”

Bernie had offered to skip the training. Serena had insisted she go.

“I’m sure we can manage without you,” she had said, knowing just how much Bernie missed her old life. “Just how bad could it get?”

16 critically injured patients and the red phone ringing nonstop. That’s how bad it could get, apparently.

She hands off her current patient to the newly arrived doctor from Darwin and runs over to the new set of patients being rushed in.

“What the hell is the ED doing? Sending all of their patients to us?” Serena shouts, frustrated, and Fletch turns around from tending to a patient.

“We’ve got the optimally functioning trauma bay, so all critically injured are being sent up here,” he offers.

“Of course. What’s the use of an expensive trauma unit if we can’t put it to good use,” Serena mutters, tearing off her gloves and reaches for a pair of clean ones as she introduces herself to a new patient.

This goes on for another two hours at least. And thanks to Bernie’s training, the entire ward runs almost seamlessly, not a single patient being backed up or having to wait too long for treatment. The chaos, the worried family and friends, the machines beeping incessantly, all of that finally starts to die down when the red phone rings again.

There is a shift, a moment, when the entire staff grows silent, staring at the red phone as though it were a bomb about to wreak havoc on an already strained ward.

Serena allows herself to count to five before she walks over, and in an instant, the chaos of the ward floods back.

“Yes?” she asks.

“We’ve got incoming trauma. Just one more patient,” the voice on the other line says.

“Is that the last of the injured?” Serena asks.

“Yes. The doctor says the patient will need surgery immediately,” the voice says.

“Good. When will you be arriving?” Serena asks.

“Any minute now,” the voice says.

Serena offers a hum and then hangs up. She’s overlooking a junior doctor stitching up a nasty gash on a patient’s arm when the doors swing open with a bang, and in comes a gurney with a patient. And another person on top of the patient.

“What on earth--” she starts, but then the gurney turns and she sees that it’s Bernie, straddling the patient, performing CPR. And she’s shouting now.

“I’ve got a pneumothorax, a heart that won’t beat on its own, and some kind of internal bleeding. I need a theater now!” she shouts, turning her head to face Serena.

“Right, right,” Serena says. Except she’s not entirely sure what Bernie just shouted. The woman is wearing her camo gear, beret, and combat boots too, and she’s yelling orders while straddling a dying patient and keeping his heart beating with her bare hands.

“Ms. Campbell!” Bernie shouts, looking straight at Serena. She returns her gaze to Bernie’s face - when had they wandered elsewhere?

“Oh, right,” Serena says, leading the way and the gurney follows.

“Will you need an assist?” Serena asks.

“Thank you, but I’ve got all the help I can get,” Bernie says, tilting her head towards two other uniformed officers flanking the gurney. She hadn’t even noticed them until just now.

“Okay. Holler if you need,” Serena says, but Bernie is already asking for tools, her mind five steps ahead of the surgery at hand.

Serena nods and returns back to the trauma bay, tending to the rest of the patients. But her attention keeps running away from her. She’s stitching up a cut on a girl’s leg, but all she can see is the black combat boots on Bernie’s feet. She’s dressing a wound on a man’s shoulder, but her mind insists on reminding her of the camo, the way the belt pulled it all together. She spends most of the chastising herself, reminding herself to focus on the task at hand.

It’s not until several hours later, after the sun has set, when she is back in her office, that she finally has a moment to breathe. All of the non-critical patients have been discharged, patients with specialized injuries admitted to their respective departments. And as soon as she sets her mind free, it wanders back to that image of Bernie. Serena prides herself on being a sensible, mature woman who is more than just the sum total of her desires. But damn Bernie Wolfe and her bloody uniform.

She looks up out at the ward, sees that most of the ward is empty. But out from the other end reappears Bernie, flanked by the two other uniformed doctors. She turns to them, says something, and they salute her before walking towards the exit.

Bernie sighs and turns towards the office. The lines on her face are more pronounced - she must be exhausted. But she walks with purpose. Maybe it’s the uniform. Or maybe it’s the way she carries herself when she is wearing that uniform. But she stands taller, like she is filling up all of the space around her. She takes each step with purpose. And suddenly it becomes clear as day, the years that Bernie spent in the army, the way the high-stress job that would crush the soul of most average doctors breathes life into her.

She’s only a few meters away when Serena frantically looks around, tries to find something to occupy herself. It’s not that she’s not allowed to appreciate Bernie. Hell, she had practically told the entire hospital herself that she was in love with the woman. But they’re dating now, and she is learning the value of boundaries.

She swishes the mouse around, reawakening her computer to her inbox, stares at the mountain of unopened emails.

“Hey, stranger,” Bernie says, opening the door.

“Oh, hi,” Serena says as cooly as she can, keeping her eyes trained on her computer. “How did the surgery go?”

“As well as it could,” she says, closing the door. “The patient is stable for now, although he’ll need more surgery tomorrow, that is if he makes it through the night.”

“Fingers crossed,” Serena says, refusing to look up as Bernie sits down across from her.

“Yes,” Bernie says. She leans back in her chair, places her boot-clad feet on the desk, and Serena doesn’t realize she is staring at it until she hears a a throat being cleared.

“How, um, how did you even end up at the scene?” Serena asks.

“I was on my way back from the training when we came across the accident,” Bernie says.

“We?” Serena asks.

“The two doctors with me. They were in my regiment back in Afghanistan, only got back last month. I wanted to show them what it was like working in a civilian hospital. Although today might not have been the best example,” Bernie says.

“No, not exactly a quiet day at the office, eh?” Serena asks.

Bernie chuckles, and Serena dares to look up, sees Bernie looking at her with amused eyes.

“How did the rest of the patients go?” she asks.

“Fine, just fine. You did an excellent job getting the trauma bay in shape,” Serena says.

Bernie looks like one of those women in the movies, the superhero who runs off into the desert to save the day. Like she could fight off a flock of evil while drinking a cup of coffee and looking entirely bored.

“Something caught your eye?” Bernie asks, and Serena once again has to divert her gaze back to Bernie’s face, feels heat flush her cheek and neck. She is such an idiot.

“Sorry, no, nothing,” she mumbles, turns her eyes back to the computer.

“Really? Because earlier, when I first arrived, I could have sworn you were a little distracted,” Bernie says.

“I don’t know what gave you such an idea,” Serena mutters, clicks aggressively on the email containing the newest hospital memo on appropriate workplace interactions.

“Oh, so when you were blatantly staring at me in front of the entire ward, that was just, what, you were just daydreaming?” Bernie asks, standing up and coming around the desk.

Serena doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to stare, but damn her and her weak will. She is a fully grown woman, a world class surgeon and Harvard-trained administrator who apparently is reduced to a raging ball of hormones when it concerns Berenice Griselda Wolfe.

She gapes as Bernie perches herself on the edge of her desk.

“I take it you like my uniform,” Bernie says.

“Well, well, I mean, it’s very professional,” Serena manages.

“Professional?” Bernie asks, her eyebrows raised.

“I mean, you look like you belong in the army. I mean, of course you belong. You were in it. I mean, it suits you. You look very...commanding,” Serena finally gets out.

“I see,” Bernie says.

“I know you had a whole life as a frontline surgeon before you came here, but I’ve never seen it so perfectly presented. And you look so...god Bernie, it’s really attractive," she finshes awkwardly, taps her fingers nervously against her desk.

Bernie smirks at her, leans down and brings herself face to face with Serena. “I’m glad you like it.”

Then she kisses her, and Serena breathes out harshly through her nose. It’s still all so new, the kissing, the touching, the sex. And it catches her by surprise, every single time, just how soft and gentle and loving Bernie can be, how she tastes, how she feels. She doesn’t know when the newness will stop, but she doubts the excitement will get old, at least not for a long long time.

And now she knows that there is a new kind of excitement she didn’t even know was possible. Major Berenice Wolfe in uniform. Who knew.

But just when the kissing goes from gentle pressing of lips to fiery blazing with intention, Bernie pulls back, much to Serena’s dismay. She chases what was taken from her, even gets up out of her seat, but is left alone as Bernie makes her way to the other side of the office.

“What, what, what are you doing?” Serena stutters, and Bernie just smirks as she closes the blinds.

“What do you think?” Bernie returns, walks over to the other set of blinds, the hard soles of her black boots clacking against the linoleum. She closes those blinds too.

“We have too many windows in this office,” she says, her hand reaching for the door. Serena swallows, her gulp sounding in tandem with the clicking of the lock.

“Bernie, what are you doing?” Serena asks again, and Bernie walks towards her, maneuvers Serena so she’s leaning up against the desk.

“That’s Major Wolfe to you,” she says, her voice darker and commanding, more forceful than Serena’s ever heard it. Gone is the soft spoken Ms Wolfe of AAU. There are still traces of her, the way she gently runs her hand down the length of Serena’s arm, the way she lifts Serena’s chin with her finger, presses her lips. But she is Major Wolfe now, and damn if Serena hasn’t heard anything hotter in her life before. She hates being bossed around, she hates not getting her own way, but Major Wolfe seems like someone she could trust with her life.

Bernie claims her lips, kissing her with a fierceness she has yet to see from her, and she whimpers, her knees growing weak as Bernie kisses down her jaw. Major Wolfe is kissing her. Serena Campbell is no damsel in distress, but she would be lying if she hasn't fantasized about a badass hero to call her own. And here she finally is, in all her blazing glory.

She slides her fingers into that blonde hair, tightly held back in a bun. Gently scratches her scalp as Bernie licks up her neck, god that rough tongue lighting up all of her nerves. She lets out a shaky breath as Bernie’s hands wander over her body with surgical precision, around her waist, up her back, down her shoulders, over her breasts.

She pinches a nipple, and Serena cries out as her hips squirm.

“Oh Ms Campbell, you’re going to have to be more quiet,” Bernie mumbles into her neck, and Serena would roll her eyes if she weren’t so distracted by the feeling of Bernie’s hands and lips, the way she smells of sweat.

“Okay,” she manages.

Bernie’s uniform is thick, rough and coarse. But Serena feels around until she finds that slim waist underneath the camo, manages to hold on tight as Bernie opens the button on her trousers and pulls down the zipper, muffles her cries into Bernie’s neck as she feels fingers slide into her underwear.

Bernie's lips smirk against her neck as she feels the moisture. And then Bernie uses her foot to nudge at Serena’s ankles, to push her legs apart, and she nearly topples over at the sensation, of her big macho army medic spreading her legs apart to fuck her in her office.

But before she even has time to appreciate it, she feels fingers circling her clit.

“Oh,” Serena whimpers, her hands clutching at the uniform, drawing it taut against Bernie’s lithe frame.

“We’ll have to be quick,” Bernie says, and Serena nods mindlessly. Anything, she’ll agree to anything as long as Bernie doesn’t stop touching her. Her fingers wander around, slippery and wet, rubs different shapes until Serena can’t keep her hips still, and then they circle her clit and Serena moans loudly.

“Shhhh,” Bernie chastises, and Serena presses her lips to Bernie’s. Bernie swallows her moans as she kisses her, rubs her hard and fast until she is coming, enters her with two fingers while her thumb continues to work her clit and Serena arches her back as she chases the feeling. Being with Bernie, having sex with Bernie, is a kind of pleasure and ecstasy she didn't think possible. She bites Bernie's lip to keep from screaming, clenches hard around the fingers inside of her

Bernie doesn’t stop until Serena has to reach down, holds onto her wrist to still her. This can’t be real. She can’t have just had sex with Bernie Wolfe in this office where they work day in, day out. She can’t count the number of times she has had to lecture the staff about keeping relationships strictly professional within the walls of this hospital. “Have some respect for your place of work,” she had said each time. “We save lives here.”

But she lifts her head, sees Bernie’s messy hair, her soft eyes, her uniform-clad body, and decides the blame lies entirely with her new girlfriend. She just had to march in here dressed like a macho army medic.

Bernie leans in for a kiss, and Serena obliges her, lets herself enjoy the feel of those lips. Those damn lips she spent months fantasizing about.

“This isn’t very appropriate behavior while I’m in uniform,” Bernie finally whispers, resting her hands on top of Serena’s legs.

“Well, this isn’t really appropriate for the hospital either. In our office, of all places,” Serena says, wrapping her hands around Bernie’s neck. “I blame you.”

“I was merely doing my job. It’s not my fault you were looking at me like you wanted to devour me,” Bernie says, and Serena chuckles. Maybe she’s not so great about keeping a poker face at work. She had promised herself she would keep her emotions in check, to not spend her day staring at Bernie instead of at her work. Maybe she needs to be better at that.

“I’m sorry, I just, you just, you look so,” she says, biting her lip. Bernie scrunches her face in an attempt to hold back a smirk. “Come over tonight. Jason is away,” she says.

“Okay,” Bernie says, retying the bun that is now more of a disheveled mess.

“Maybe bring the uniform too,” Serena mumbles, and Bernie laughs, nods her head.


End file.
